The Odds Were Never In Our Favor
by BareWords
Summary: It's the 60th Annual Hunger Games. A victor with an interesting past meets insufferable drunk, Haymitch Abernathy. (Insert clever summary here) [Contains OC/Canon. Rated M for language, little to no smut. Trans-Male/Male]


**_Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games in any way shape or form, nor do I own any of the characters aside from Jeremy, Amanda, Alex, and Gina._**

Heads-up warning, this story is full of cursing, violence, and the possibility of slash. If you don't like any of that, feel free to click off the story, no hard feelings. I had a ton of fun writing this chapter, and though it contains some OCs, I hope you'll enjoy it as well. It's just a little idea I had. Reviews are greatly appreciated, and I'll do my best to make this story worth reading!

* * *

 _Fuck._ It was the start of the 60th Hunger Games and I was not prepared even in the slightest. My fellow mentor, Amanda, assured me that we helped this year's tributes to the best of our abilities, but everything felt wrong. As I said goodbye to Alex Quan, a 16 year old boy with pale blond, curly hair, I stepped backwards and took a long drag from my cigarette in hopes that the nicotine would ease my nerves. The boy was angry, bitter even, and had told me countless times that he planned to 'end his Games before they began.' Helplessly, I watched him board the Capitol transport and fly away into the sky, most likely to his death.

"Christ, I hope that kid doesn't do anything stupid," I muttered under my breath, smoke billowing out from between my chapped lips as I spoke to the air. Other mentors were by my side, but I ignored them. I didn't know their names, but I knew their faces, their personalities. At least, to some extent. Aside from Amanda, whom I'd worked with the past two Games and now this one, I didn't really know any of the others here. It had never been a priority of mine to socialize, not after how my Games had ended...

 _I'd been reaped as the female tribute of District 5 back in the 56th Hunger Games. It was during my interview with Caesar Flickerman that I told all of Panem that I, the seemingly beautiful and charming "Jeanne" truly identified as a man. It had come to a shock, of course, but the Capitol loved the 'story' and demanded that I win and be given special treatment. Apparently, they admired my 'courage,' whatever that meant. "If I'm going to die, I would rather die with everyone knowing who I really am. It's not courage, it's necessity. A last chance of peace before my demise," is what I told Caesar. Everyone had clapped._

 _The next day my stylist cut my hair short, gave me special clothes that flattened my curves, and I was reborn on the morning of the Games as Jeremy. Somehow, after days of anxiety, blood and death, I was in fact crowned the victor (how I didn't die I will never know) and I became all the Capitol talked about from then on out. They provided me with hormones to change my face and my voice, but for them it was nothing but a distraction from the horrors of the Games, the government itself didn't give a rat's ass about me, let alone their sorry excuse for a president. They used my story, used me, and I hated it. They told everyone that my family disowned me, and the Capitol wept for me, though it was all a lie. They claimed to be my new family, but I didn't want them. Instead, I closed myself off, age 18, inside my new home that the Capitol provided for me back in District 5._

"Jeremy, hon, it's time to go back." I was snapped out of my memories when Amanda tapped my shoulder lightly and pulled me to the side. "Things don't look good for our tributes this year," she said softly. "Gina was crying her little eyes out this morning, told me she couldn't do it. Alex told her that there was no way to win, said the career tributes from 1 and 2 were too strong. Poor child, she had so many dreams..."

Amanda talked more about the girl in question, although I wasn't paying attention whatsoever. It wasn't for lack of trying, all I wanted was to get back to District 5 and ignore the Games altogether. But as a mentor, I was required to stay within the Capitol until the end of this year's Games.

"Look, Amanda," tiredly, I pushed my untidy hair from my forehead, "I know. Same thing every year, it's a fucking tragedy." Her gaze snapped directly to mine, obviously shocked by my apathetic yet harsh words. "There's not a damn thing I can do about it now, so let's just go." Without another word to her I walked away and let the Peacekeepers lead me back to our temporary living quarters.

When I arrived I sat with the other mentors, much to my displeasure, in a large common room displaying the events of the Games on a large screen, which were to start in ten minutes. I glanced around, boredly, letting my line of sight linger briefly on people around me. We may as well be strangers. I sighed. None of us were smiling. This year's Games were particularly unfair, with most of the tributes being younger than 15. The only ones older were Alex, the career tributes, and the tributes from 3, 8 and 12. I myself had been 18 when I'd been in the Games. It was hell. I can't imagine how those kids must have been feeling.

Looking up at the screen I saw the tributes being raised up on their platforms, marking one minute until, I scoffed, _showtime_. Around me, mentors and escorts alike gripped their seats or partners and stared wide-eyed at the screen. The arena this year appeared to be a wasteland, with little foliage aside from some dead shrubs and moss scattered along the black mud. Sneering at the cruel landscape choice, I finally tuned in and listened to the countdown that marked the start of the end of their lives.

 _18_

 _17_

 _16_

 _15_

 _14_

 _13_

 _12_

 _11_

BOOM.

Several people screamed around me. It all appeared to happen in slow-motion. Alex, blank-faced and his eyes turned to the cameras with a last-second snarl, stepped off his platform right as the countdown reached ten. The mines below his feet exploded, and I'm sure he died instantly, young body ripped apart by the blast.

"Fuck!" I shouted, banging my fist onto the arm of the sofa I was sharing with Amanda and the mentor from 12. Beside me, Amanda was sobbing quietly, muttering something that I couldn't quite make out. I let out a colorful string of curses.

Looking up again, I saw the horrified faces of 23 children staring at the place their fallen tribute had been standing only moments before. Many of them didn't notice when the countdown reached 0.

The career tributes were the first to move, rushing to the Cornucopia and gaining the advantage. Within minutes, kids were being slaughtered before my eyes and to my horror, Gina was frozen in place, seemingly in shock. _Move, you idiot!_ I urged her, my eyes boring into the screen.

Her death was too gruesome for many to bear, the boy from 2 having stricken her in the abdomen with a large steel axe. Gina fell on the ground, choking up black blood as her intestines fell from her tiny body. The child didn't even scream, she merely hunched over on her hands and knees before collapsing totally and died, making me feel downright ill, as though it had been _me_ who'd-. Amanda pressed her face desperately into my shoulder and I could hear her crying again, feel her shaking uncontrollably. I grew numb. Both tributes died less than 10 minutes into the Games, a new record for us. Usually they lasted at _least_ until after the bloodbath. Internally, I let out a laugh of exasperation _. Fucking_ _wonderful. Now I'm stuck here for weeks and I don't even have my tributes to keep an eye on,_ I thought bitterly.

I shook Amanda from my arm and rose, walking stiffly to the other end of the room where I stared out the window. I couldn't bear to hear the cannons, the screams of the dying, anymore. It brought back too much to my mind, so I simply burned the thoughts away with another cigarette. I heard someone behind me, coming to join me and probably reprimand me for my vulgar language. I sighed.

"Amanda, not now." Turning my face to the ground and shaking off the ashes of my cig into an emerald-hued ashtray, I growled "Yeah, it fucking sucks. They're dead, no more dreams for them, but at least now they don't have to deal with this horseshit every year." Bitterness caused my voice to sound rougher than usual, which I ignored. I didn't want to hurt Amanda, but I think it was too late for that. After seeing the little girl eviscerated before her eyes, I don't think much else could hurt her more.

"Mine died too," a man, rather than Amanda, had stepped up beside me. I could tell by the foul scent of alcohol emanating from him that it was the mentor from 12. "Damn idiots always run straight for the weapons."

I laughed humorlessly, "Sorry, bub, thought you were someone else."

The man simply shrugged and took a sizable drink from his amber bottle of liquor. In response, I had another puff of my cigarette. We stood there for what may have been hours or minutes, both ignoring one another's presence the best we could. I'd seen this man before, and he seemed to be just about as social as myself, if not less. That is, he avoided most everyone. I figured we had a silent understanding of this, and assumed he'd leave me to myself, until he decided to speak up.

"So how's that new Capitol body of yours, Stonemere?" he smirked, tilting his head in my direction. I grimaced, somehow caught off guard by his question although it was often the topic of conversations around me. There'd never been a transgender tribute, let alone victor, before me, so of course everyone seemed to think they were allowed to butt into my private life. Then again, that seemed to be the case with all victors. We were never left alone.

"My body's no different," I said gruffly, staring out the window with what I assumed was a very unpleasant look twisting my features, "just my voice and face."

"Really?" Mister 12 chortled, like he found it amusing that the Capitol had _cheated_ me.

"Yes, really," I spat, unusually angered. I didn't appreciate this stranger's tone of voice. He was obviously drunk and I didn't appreciate _that_ either. "In case you haven't been watching all those damned shows the Capitol puts out, you'd know that they refused to give me any form of surgeries." _Not that they worded it like that_. Irritated, I took a step away from him. "They claimed to all of Panem that my body is too _weak_ and all they can 'safely give me' is hormones."

"So you're still a chick, then?" His words immediately pissed me off. I swiveled on my heel and virtually snarled, eyes burning up at him with hate, I'm sure.

"No." I glowered, cursing my short stature as I noticed I was an estimated half a foot shorter than he. "I am _not_."

"But you said-"

"I don't give a rat's ass about what I said. I am a _man_ and you will refer to me as such." Anger was boiling my blood and a deep hatred began to form within me for this... this _insufferable_ man. "My name is _Jeremy_. Does that sound like a woman's name to you?"

"And my name's Haymitch," the drunk said simply, shrugging as the sound of cannons went off on the screen behind us. "but at least I actually have a penis, ladyboy."

 _12!_ I sneered and moved to punch him square in the face, but Haymitch (what kind of name is that?) caught my fist mid-swing. The other mentors were now staring at us, I noticed as I darted my eyes around the room. Still seething with rage I wrenched my hand free and stomped away, locking myself in the District 5 apartment without another word.

When I was alone, I beat the wall so hard it bruised my knuckles to the bone with a sickening crack. Cursing, I searched for the alcohol I'd seen Amanda carry in the night before. (When I'd asked her what it was for, she claimed herself, but I know she let the tributes drink some to help them settle their nerves. She always did that, whether she thought I knew or not.)

I hated drinking, it always made me sick, but I needed something stronger than a cigarette to calm me down. When I found it sitting in a cabinet I grabbed it and tore out the cork with my teeth, spitting it out onto the floor, and immediately began to guzzle it down as quickly as I could. It tasted foul, but it dulled my senses and soon I was slumped on the sofa, ogling the purple bruises on my hand. I was so enamored with the deep purple and black patterns that I didn't notice when Amanda entered the room.

She sat down next to me and tenderly pulled me into her toned but small, gentle arms. She was fifteen years older than I, and seemed to care for me in an almost maternal way, though more often than not we were mistaken as more than friends (which had been oh so _delightful_ to explain to Panem on public television). I laid my head on her shoulder and ranted endlessly about how much I despised Haymitch, a man I'd just met, and how much I hated the Capitol and basically everything else in the world, myself included. She said nothing, but her hand gently stroking my red-brown hair was enough to tell me she cared. It was relaxing to some extent, but I was still hot with rage and hurt.

"Why the fucking hell would he say that?" I shouted suddenly, more to myself than anything. "He doesn't know me, he doesn't have the right to say shit like that! It isn't fucking fair Amanda, I can't help that the Capitol-."

"I know, Jeremy. I know," she crooned. I knew she was using me to calm herself down after the way our tributes had died (it always affected her horribly when it happened every year) but her intentions didn't matter to me. She was calming me down to a tolerable level, so it was mutual and I accepted her affections. "He just doesn't understand it... He seemed drunk, so he probably didn't realize that what he was saying was hurtful and out-of-line."

I scoffed, about to say something very nasty, then pulled away from the couch as my stomach lurched and I vomited on the floor.

 _I hate alcohol._


End file.
